


The Bet

by rummy_cat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Consensual Sex, Conversations, Dirty Talk, Epilogue, Explicit Language, F/M, Flirting, Older Man/Younger Woman, One Shot, POV Tywin Lannister, Porn With Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29880462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rummy_cat/pseuds/rummy_cat
Summary: Tywin helps Sansa get one over on Joffrey.
Relationships: Tywin Lannister & Sansa Stark, Tywin Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 119





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In case it matters to anyone, Sansa is 20 and Tywin is 60.   
> Most of the characters tagged are minor. 95% of this fic is Tywin and Sansa alone together.  
> Might be somewhat OOC Tywin and Sansa, but it's a modern fic, so I think that's to be expected. Tywin has a sense of humor, Sansa isn't a prude who's afraid of penises. You get the idea.   
> Characters belong to GRRM.

Tywin Lannister kept a running mental list of the people he would ruin if ever the opportunity presented itself. The list used to be comprised of solely those men (and a few women) who had cheated him on a business deal at some point over the roughly forty years he’d been running the family company. Brightroar Inc. had been on the brink of bankruptcy thanks to his father’s mismanagement when Tywin took over the reins – an eighteen-year-old who hadn’t bothered to apply for college admission because he knew from an even earlier age that his father was running their billion-dollar legacy into the ground and that it would fall to Tywin to fix it.

So far, all the people on the list had been dealt with, though they weren’t all “ruined” after Tywin was done with them. After realizing that there is often little to gain by truly ruining someone (unless it’s a direct competitor) he changed his approach and instead would find ways to indebt his enemies to him. Favors owed were a currency to Tywin Lannister, who already had more money than he could spend in ten lifetimes.

Only recently had Tywin added a new name to his list, and it gave him no joy. His eldest grandson, Joffrey, was a shame to the family name. And while the boy’s name was “Baratheon”, everyone thought of him as a Lannister. He had the Lannister blond hair and green eyes – none of his father Robert’s black hair and blue eyes. He also had the Lannister ambition, though it was never applied to anything useful. He had no drive when it came to his studies or his career (which was nonexistent) but plenty of ingenuity and initiative when it came to making a fool of himself, harassing women, and getting in trouble with the law. Of course, the latter issues were swiftly swept under the rug by his _doting_ parents, who either didn’t notice or didn’t care they were only enabling their son’s worst behavior.

Joffrey was only twenty but had already managed to earn a reputation as a troublemaker and generally unlikeable person. He’d had his first DUI at age seventeen, his second at eighteen. His parents’ solution? Hire him a full-time driver. After graduating high school, Joffrey decided to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps by not going to college and instead working for the family business (his father’s side of the family, thank goodness). However, Joffrey proved to have a different definition of the word ‘work’ than the rest of civilization. He expected to collect a paycheck for doing _literally_ nothing. He had given Tywin various versions of bullshit to explain his contribution to his father’s business. The most imaginative was that Joffrey was “cultivating an image” and “building a social media following” that would drive up interest in Stag, Inc. Of course, that would be more believable if Stag sold something that sixteen-year-old girls were interested in buying (they didn’t), since the _image_ that Joffrey lovingly cultivated was one of an entitled playboy that went out at least four nights each week to bars and clubs where he got so drunk that he had to be carried out by his driver or one of his equally useless friends.

But the straw that broke the camel’s back for Tywin was Joffrey’s very recent and very questionable behavior toward Margaery Tyrell, the beloved granddaughter of one of the most powerful women in Westeros. Olenna Tyrell was the older, female version of Tywin Lannister. She was smart, cutthroat, well-connected, and influential. She, like Tywin, could make or break someone in the business world depending on her mood. Those she backed were almost always successful in their pursuits; those who made an enemy of her would consider themselves lucky if they could get a job in the fast-food industry.

Tywin and Olenna had always maintained a relationship of mutual respect. Neither found the other particularly likeable, but there was enough money in Westeros for both of them, and neither wanted to cross the other. Tywin’s family knew that the massive extended family of Olenna Tyrell were off limits. They weren’t to go up against Olenna’s son Mace in a bidding war, for instance. Olenna’s family must have received similar instructions because never had they encroached on an opportunity that Brightroar was pursuing.

Unfortunately, Joffrey didn’t get the memo. Three months ago he had come on to Margaery Tyrell at a night club, refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer. It got to the point where Margaery’s brother Loras interceded to defend his sister’s honor. Joffrey, rather than bowing out gracefully, shouted a slew of homophobic slurs at Loras before ordering his two friends to jump the young man. Luckily for Loras (and Tywin), Joffrey’s entire posse was too shitfaced to do much damage, and the club’s security quickly broke up the fight. But twenty-four hours later Joffrey was served with a restraining order applying to both Margaery and Loras Tyrell, and Olenna had sent Tywin a stern warning via email: _a rose’s thorns are sharp._ The woman was known as the _Queen of Thorns_ due to her cutting wit and willingness to draw blood, proverbially speaking, in business deals – not to mention her fondness for roses.

Tywin interpreted the brief missive as the first and last warning she’d give, and he immediately made it very clear that Joffrey was one fuck-up away from being out of the will. Upon Tywin’s death, his not insignificant assets would be split six ways between his three children and three grandchildren. Joffrey, for perhaps the first time in his life, had looked contrite – no doubt the prospect of pissing away over a hundred million dollars frightened even his primitive monkey brain.

But that was three months ago…

If Joffrey had truly learned his lesson, he certainly wasn’t employing any of that knowledge now.

Tywin hated these events that his daughter would occasionally host to remind everyone how wealthy the Lannisters were. This was her annual Independence Day celebration. Five hundred years ago the Westerlands followed the trend set by the North and later Dorne and the Vale and declared its independence from the monarchy. Today, the event was celebrated by Westermen rich and poor by over-indulging in food and spirits, then blowing stuff up.

Since Cersei insisted the gala be held at Tywin’s estate, Casterly Rock, he had no choice but to participate _._ Of course, he defined participation the way others would define _observation_. He watched the guests, eavesdropped on their conversations, and studied their interactions. In doing so, one could easily determine things that were rather beneficial to know, like:

Who was cheating on his or her spouse.

Who had a genuine drinking problem versus a tendency to indulge during social events.

Who had fallen on hard times, financially.

The subject of Tywin’s interest today was Ned Stark, an “old friend” of Robert Baratheon that found excuses every year past not to attend the Baratheon/Lannister Independence Day celebration. After covertly observing Ned for all of five minutes, Tywin knew the following:

Ned was _not_ cheating on his wife, Catelyn. He’d probably cut off his own dick before engaging in an act of infidelity.

Ned didn’t care for drinking. He nursed the same glass of bourbon for the better part of an hour, despite Robert trying to get him to “do shots” like this was some kind of frat party.

He was doing just fine, financially, though he didn’t flaunt his wealth like most of the others partygoers.

Whatever amity once existed between Robert and Ned was mostly gone. There didn’t appear to be any bad blood, but it was impossible not to notice that Ned wasn’t as happy to see his old friend as the old friend was. By contrast, Ned seemed genuinely pleased to see Robert’s brother Stannis for what was probably the first time in years.

When Tywin wasn’t observing Ned, his eyes were glued to Joffrey and his circle of deadbeat friends. He doubted the boys enjoyed Joffrey’s personality any more than Tywin did. Rather, they liked having a friend wealthy enough to always pick up the bar tab.

Thus, it wasn’t a surprise that Tywin was in a position to spot Joffrey trying (unsuccessfully) to woo Ned’s eldest daughter, Sansa. She was the spitting image of her mother with fair skin, auburn hair that was copper and gold in the sun, and vivid blue eyes. She had already surpassed her mother in height, however, seemingly having inherited at least one trait from Ned.

Joffrey was not taking her rejection well. His attempts went from faux-charming to borderline-condescending as the afternoon wore on. At one point, Sansa’s younger sister, who inherited neither her mother’s beauty nor her father’s height, told Joffrey off in a rather loud manner. If Tywin was the type, he'd have high-fived her. Instead, her mother pulled her away to some quiet corner of the property, leaving Sansa alone with Joffrey and his toadies. The girl apparently found a way to excuse herself, for the next time Tywin looked in that direction she was nowhere to be found.

A few minutes later Tywin had inconspicuously meandered to stand within hearing distance of the boys (he refused to call them ‘young men’ even in his head).

“Fucking bitch has a massive stick up her ass,” boy 1 grumbled.

“I’ll give her something massive to stick up her ass,” Joffrey snorted proudly. Tywin focused on not laughing out loud at the notion that anything on Joffrey was “massive”.

“You should,” boy 2 encouraged, “she needs to get fucked… that’s probably what her problem is.”

“Bitch’s cunt is probably as cold as ice, no thanks,” Joffrey huffed, in direct contrast to the fact that he’d spent much of the party trying to get in the girl’s pants.

“Well don’t get mad if I do it then. Who cares if she’s a dead fish in bed? She’s hot as hell,” boy 1 spoke without trying to downplay his eagerness.

Joffrey rolled his eyes, “If she wouldn’t fuck _me_ , what makes you think she’d fuck _you?”_

“Are you kidding? I can be very persuasive!”

Boy 3 inserted himself into the riveting discussion, “Well I don’t _need_ to be persuasive. Girls drop their panties whenever I walk by.”

Tywin was laughing hysterically – though only on the inside.

Joffrey crossed his arms, “She’s a fucking prude, just like that Tyrell bitch. Only difference is Margaery acts like the goods are for sale. Fucking cock tease. Sansa acts like a fucking Septa.”

Boy 3 held his hands out, “My point exactly. The good girls are always the ones that will surprise you. They play hard to get but once you _get_ it, you’ll never want to give it up.”

Joffrey let out a mirthless laugh, “Tell you what, any guy gets Sansa Stark to fuck him today, I’ll give him my Rolex.” He held his wrist out where the too-big watch hung like a woman’s bangle. _Yeah, definitely nothing massive about him… I could wrap my fingers around his wrist twice…_

Tywin had just about enough of this subject matter. The boys were rubbing their hands together like cliché villains in a cartoon movie, looking around the premises in search of Sansa Stark.

Tywin didn’t see much benefit in sympathy, under any circumstances, but to know the girl was going to now receive unwanted advances from four men instead of one made Tywin want to warn her to spend the rest of the party hidden in the study – the one room Joffrey and his friends would never attempt to search for her, for fear of gaining a few brain cells.

With that thought, Tywin checked his watch. It was six in the evening. He’d been out here doing his version of socializing for three hours, and the party would be going for another five hours, easily. He decided now was as good as any to make his exit – or rather, his _entrance_ – into his house, which would be quiet and peaceful. He’d work for a few hours, perhaps make another appearance shortly before the fireworks display, then call it a night.

…

Tywin was surprised to walk into the massive library that doubled as his study to find Sansa Stark there, her hands folded neatly behind her back as she perused a particular bookshelf – the one Tywin knew held an assortment of Westerosi history books dedicated to the Targaryen era. He mused that the girl didn’t need his warning to seek out the privacy this particular space could offer.

She hadn’t heard his approach, which gave him an opportunity to appraise her. She wore a light blue, sleeveless dress that fell at the knee. Her pale calves were shapely but not overly muscular. Judging by the bookshelf, she was an inch shy of six feet tall in the wedge sandals she wore, so probably around 5’8” barefoot. Her hair fell in loose ringlets at the ends, which reached her middle back.

Tywin cleared his throat, “Tired of the festivities?”

She turned around quickly, her blue eyes wide when they landed on him, “Mr. Lannister, my apologies, I—”

“Needed a break from the unwanted attention of boys who never took lessons in manners?”

Her ivory cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink, “It’s quite warm out, and I’m of a northern constitution.”

It was probably true, but so was Tywin’s observation.

“I think I’ll return to the party now,” she spoke after several seconds of silence, “I hope I haven’t intruded on a private space.”

“It’s no intrusion. Any rooms that are off limits to the partygoers are locked.”

For reasons he didn’t understand, Tywin wasn’t eager for the girl to leave his company, “Are you a history buff, Ms. Stark?”

She teetered her hand, “Yes and no… I enjoy learning about the past, but find it frustrating to notice the pattern of mankind repeating the mistakes of its forebearers.”

Tywin nodded solemnly, “Indeed. Few people learn from their _own_ mistakes, though, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

She offered a small smile, “A wise observation. My mother always says I’m an idealist. I suppose I expect too much from people, as a whole.”

“You have plenty of time to turn into a cynical old woman; enjoy your optimism while it lasts.”

Her smile became wider then, and Tywin felt rather proud. He rarely elicited such a response from anyone – certainly not young women.

“Do you play?” she asked meekly after another small silence passed between them.

“Hmm?”

She pointed at the backgammon board set on a small table beneath one of the many windows.

“Ah. Yes, I do; when I can find a worthy opponent.”

She nodded thoughtfully, “Indeed. Few people have the discipline to always choose the logical move, particularly when presented with a tempting opportunity to make a strike.”

“You play,” he half stated, half asked.

She smiled again, “I do. It’s my favorite game. Such a better proxy for real life than chess, don’t you think?”

He furrowed his brow, “Chess is considered the ultimate exercise in strategy, forethought, and anticipating your opponent’s moves – all actions that bode well for success in the real world.”

“But chess eliminates the element of chance… of luck.”

“I prefer to make my own luck.”

“Then, with all due respect Mr. Lannister, you’re ignoring the fact that some things are beyond one’s control. Only in backgammon can one player make _all_ the right moves – all the statistically-best options – only to lose in the end because their opponent rolls double sixes.”

“And you think that’s a better proxy for life?”

“I do,” she nodded, “Though we can’t explain luck with science, we can’t deny that some people get lucky when others don’t, and vice versa. Some people that deserve a break never get it. You have these people that that eat healthy, exercise, take care of their bodies, and they still get cancer. Though I suppose you’ll say that’s genetics, not luck. So a better example is the person that takes care of his or her health only to die in a car accident or get struck by lightning on a golf course.”

Tywin hummed thoughtfully, “You know, I’ve never thought of it that way. But I suppose you’re right. I’ve occasionally lost a game of backgammon to my son, who is a novice, just as I’ve occasionally been on the losing side of a deal that I’d painstakingly worked to win.”

“Luck is the only variable in life we cannot predict, not with all the advances of modern science and technology, not with all the foresight in the world.”

Tywin moved to lean against the table where the backgammon board sat, “Then what do you make of people who appear to be chronically lucky, or unlucky?”

She took a few steps to close much of the distance between them, though it seemed she did so subconsciously while her brain searched for an answer to his very philosophical question. Eventually she settled on, “I couldn’t venture a guess, certainly not while keeping this discussion secular, and something tells me you’re not one for religion.”

Tywin smiled despite himself, “I’ll turn off my personal beliefs for a moment. Humor me.”

She shrugged, “Well, if you believe in the Gods, and you believe they have some influence over our lives, then it is logical to assume what happens to us is the Gods’ will. If we are lucky, if we have a particularly happy and successful life, it’s because that’s the reward our soul is due. If we have an unlucky life filled with misfortune and woes, that is the punishment our soul is due.” Her finger tapped her chin, “Or, perhaps, it is neither a reward _nor_ a punishment… perhaps each soul has certain lessons it needs to learn. There is a lesson in suffering, as there is in peace.”

Tywin stared at the young woman and wondered if she could tell how highly he thought of her in that moment. She had the poise and intellect of a woman twice her age. She was a freethinker, but not in the contrary way most youths tend to be. Tywin’s teenage granddaughter Myrcella was set on rebelling against anything she viewed as mainstream to the point where she was a slave to her unconventional principles just as her parents were slaves to their cliché measures of success. At least Myrcella had some brains, though. She’d outgrow this defiant phase, probably once she graduated from college and got her first job and began to learn that the way the world works isn’t a trend one self-proclaimed progressive woman can break.

But Sansa, at only a few years older than Myrcella, Tywin deduced, didn’t seem to share Myrcella’s misplaced passions. She wasn’t in here telling Tywin to burn his entire collection of books because they were all either A) histories written by the winners, or B) fictions written with an agenda to “brainwash mankind on a massive scale”.

No, in this brief conversation with Sansa he could tell that she saw the world for what it was – the good, the bad, the ugly; the fair and the unfair. She didn’t blindly accept its flaws, but nor did she make it a personal mission to change them. Perhaps Myrcella would call her a sell-out, but Myrcella didn’t have her grandfather’s wisdom. People Tywin’s age knew that some things would never change. Money would always make the world go ‘round. People would always be willing to do despicable things to gain more money or more power. And all too often, the choices life gave you were two evils, and there was no guidebook for how to spot the lesser of the two. The world was a spectrum of grays; there was no singular right and wrong, good and evil.

Once again Tywin only realized he’d been in silent contemplation only when Sansa spoke, “I’ll return to the party now. It was very lovely talking with you, Mr. Lannister.”

He supposed there was no way to make her stay that wouldn’t come off as ‘creepy old man’. Except perhaps one… “Likewise, Ms. Stark. Perhaps next time you’re here we’ll have a game of backgammon.”

Her eyes brightened and she bit her bottom, trying to suppress what Tywin assumed was excitement. Her eyes darted to the game board as if it were beckoning her, and for a moment Tywin thought she would cave. Instead she blushed again, “Well, that gives me a reason to look forward to next year’s party.”

Tywin dipped his head. He was disappointed but also pleased. The idea that she might remember this conversation a year from now and be excited by the prospect of a backgammon match against _him_ gave him an odd thrill.

In fact, everything about this interaction was odd. He’d never been one to fall for a pretty face, even when paired with an attractive figure, as hers was. Even when paired with a sharp mind, as hers _definitely_ was. He wasn’t the type of man to have one-night stands with anyone – cocktail waitresses, socialites, interns at his company, his secretary… He would bet half the men at this party had fucked their secretary at some point in their career. Maybe a quarter of them kept mistresses, even going so far as to put the woman up in an upscale apartment so that they’d always have a convenient place to fuck.

“Thanks again, Mr. Lannister,” she smiled shyly.

 _Damn._ She’d caught him lost in his own musings at least three times now. For the first time in his life, Tywin wondered if his companion thought him a dullard.

But there was no going back in time to make himself a more engaging conversationalist. Instead he nodded, “My pleasure, Ms. Stark. Just one piece of advice, if you don’t mind: steer clear of Joffrey and his friends. Go find your parents or that feisty sister of yours.”

Her brows knitted into an adorable look of confusion, “Joffrey is… your grandson…” It wasn’t phrased quite as a question, but rather as a polite way of asking why he would offer such a statement in regards his own flesh and blood.

Tywin tried not to sneer. He didn’t need to remind this twenty-something woman that he was old enough to be _her_ grandfather, but he nodded nonetheless, “He is. Unfortunately.”

She blushed and lost a battle against a conspiratorial smile, “That is unfortunate.”

Tywin snorted in amusement, “I’m blessed with six total children and grandchildren. That I’m proud of three of them you may choose to look at as a glass half full or glass half empty. Since you said you’re an optimist I’m assuming you’ll choose the former.”

She shook her head, “My parents have five children and they’re proud of all five of them, though for very different reasons. So you have my sympathies, Mr. Lannister.”

He chuckled at that, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone’s sympathy. Resentment? Envy? Hatred? I’m well accustomed to being the target of all those things, but not sympathy.”

“I suppose I have a soft heart,” she smiled, “but anyway, I appreciate the advice. I have been trying to keep my distance, but your grandson is… persistent.”

“Not the word I’d use…”

She shook her head in a half-hearted admonishment, “However I think he is harmless enough.”

For the first time he could find something in the girl to criticize: naivety.

“Perhaps here at this social function where his parents and grandfather and uncles are present, where your parents are present… Unfortunately he’s also made a rather crude bet which may make you the unwanted target of his friends’ advances.”

Her cheeks turned crimson, “A bet?”

Tywin nodded.

“What sort of bet?”

Tywin sighed. It was too vulgar to repeat, but the girl deserved to know what kind of person Joffrey was and what type of attention she might receive when she stepped back outside, “His favorite Rolex to the man that successfully… _seduces_ you.”

Her eyebrows lifted, “Seduce? As in, get my phone number? Or…”

“Or.” He stated with finality.

To Tywin’s surprise the girl didn’t appear scandalized. Shocked, for a moment, then somewhat amused. She rolled her eyes and Tywin could practically here her saying _“Men!”_

She shook her head incredulously, but her eyes looked mischievous rather than hurt, “Would it make me sound wanton to admit I might just let one of them _seduce_ me so that I can dent Joffrey’s ego _and_ make him lose his favorite Rolex?”

Tywin was certain that his normally straight expression was revealing all kinds of surprise. His lips were in an ‘O’ and his eyes were wide and unblinking. It seemed to only amuse the girl further as she looked at him and giggled.

It took him a long time to snap out of his stupor, but once he did the residual emotion was admiration. He recognized the seemingly kind and impeccably polite young woman had a mean streak, and he didn’t disapprove.

He tipped his head, “As someone who has bruised plenty of egos over the years and done whatever it took to make my opponents _lose,_ I can honestly say I do not think you’re wanton. Or shameless. Or cruel. In fact, my appraisal of you has only increased.”

She blushed again, and Tywin was starting to wonder if her blood vessels weren’t communicating something other than a young woman’s shyness in the presence of the Great Lion.

“So… this _bet_ …” She peered up at him from beneath full, natural lashes, and Tywin realized they had somehow closed the gap between them such that he wouldn’t even have to extend his arm all the way to touch her. “Must it be one of Joffrey’s friends? Or would any man at this party be qualified to claim the prize? Or should I say _both_ prizes?”

At Tywin’s age, his cock didn’t swell every time a beautiful woman stood close to him or whispered something provocative in his ear (which, when you were as rich as he was, happened often). So he trusted that his body’s reaction right now was proof that she was indeed hitting on him, and he indeed liked it.

He didn’t want to appear over-eager, but nor did he want to scare her off by showing any signs of disinterest. Because he _was_ interested. And perhaps even eager. He held her gaze, “I believe his exact words were ‘Any guy who gets Sansa Stark to… fornicate with him today’…”

She raised an eyebrow, “Joffrey knows the word ‘fornicate’?”

Tywin chuckled, “I may have censored that part, for your sake.”

“I appreciate that,” she smiled, “but more important is the issue that it needs to be a ‘guy’. That term tends to imply a certain… _immaturity._ ”

Tywin hummed thoughtfully, “I don’t disagree, but I think one needs to consider the speaker’s intent. For example, if _I_ were to use the term ‘guy’ I’d be making a vague reference to some man not worth referring to by name. I’d most likely be implying that the person was young – more boy than man. But when Joffrey uses the term, I believe he is referring to _anyone_ of the male sex – man or boy. He tends to use a much more _casual_ manner of speech.”

She widened her eyes comically, “I had noticed.”

Tywin chuckled again. In fact, he’d probably displayed more amusement in the past twenty minutes spent with Sansa Stark than the average year of his life.

“Well, this party just became much more interesting, Mr. Lannister. I think I am now on a mission to find a _guy_ to fornicate with, if only to enjoy the look on Joffrey’s face when said guy claims his Rolex.”

Tywin nodded, still playing it cool though he couldn’t force his lips into his trademark scowl in Sansa’s presence, “Since _that_ is a look I’d very much like to see for myself, would you accept my assistance in finding the right ‘guy’ for your purposes?”

She smiled coyly, “How kind of you to offer. Indeed, I’ll take any help I can get. You see, I don’t know many people at this party, and for the sake of my own pride I must be _somewhat_ discerning.”

“Of course. An _unpleasant_ encounter will negate the pride of triumph. We wouldn’t want that.”

She shook her head as she held his eyes.

“So tell me what type of ‘guy’ would be a suitable candidate for you.”

She hissed through her teeth as if it was an extremely difficult question to answer, then took a deep breath before responding, “Well, I certainly prefer this ‘guy’ be more man than boy – to avoid an “unpleasant encounter” as you put it.”

“Shall we say over thirty then?”

She nodded, “And height is important. I cannot stand being taller than a partner.”

Tywin eyed her from head to toe and back again, as if only noticing her figure for the first time, “Well, I’d say you’re nearly six-foot tall in those shoes, so shall we say your candidate must be 6’1” or taller?”

She nodded.

“Anything else?”

“Well, I’d prefer he be an attractive man, and fit, even if that makes me sound shallow.”

“Nothing shallow about it. You’re an attractive woman, why would you settle for anything less in your partner?”

She let through a grin she was obviously trying to stifle, “And I’d prefer he be unattached, romantically speaking. I’d hate to ruin someone’s relationship over something which is strictly about getting one over on Joffrey.”

Tywin nodded, “Alright, let’s recap. A tall and good-looking man, thirty years or older, six-foot-one or taller, and not in a committed relationship. Oh, and who is capable of making the encounter pleasurable for you.”

She sucked her teeth, “Tall order. And I’m not sure how easy it will be to determine the last _attribute_ unless my partner in crime is willing to ask every candidate about his _prowess_ in the bedroom.”

Tywin made an exaggerated wince, “I fear that may call my sexuality into question…”

She giggled, and it was infectious. Tywin laughed right along with her, albeit in a much more subdued manner.

After a few moments of glee, Tywin got them back on track, “Well by age, height, and marital status alone, I can think of only two men at this party who are qualified. One is my eldest son, Jaime. Unfortunately, while he isn’t in an exclusive relationship, he wishes to be – with the woman he brought as his date.”

She exaggerated a frown, “And the other option?”

“Well, I can speak only for his age, height, marital status, and capabilities in the bedroom. You’ll have to tell me if you find him attractive.”

“Oh? Who is this gentleman?”

Tywin shrugged, “Some anti-social billionaire who would rather hide in the library with a young woman who makes very pleasant company than to participate in the so-called _festivities_ which are truly just excuses for shameless bragging, ass-kissing, and dick-measuring.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, “You said ‘ass’ and ‘dick’ in the same sentence. And here I thought you were a gentleman.”

“I like to think I am. However, there are occasions in life when such crude terms are the most effective way to convey one’s meaning.”

She nodded slowly, “I can’t disagree. For instance, if I were to ask you to bring this man you speak of to me so that he can _fornicate_ my brains out… something gets lost in translation, don’t you think?”

Tywin took half a step toward her and lifted his left hand to cup her cheek. She stared up at him with a gaze that was equal parts sexy and innocent, and it made his heart skip a beat. He’d seen this look in other women and had always despised it because it always looked disingenuous. It marked a loose woman trying to play shy and innocent because she thought that’s what Tywin wanted, or an inexperienced woman trying to act sexy because she thought _that_ was what he wanted. The truth was he didn’t care where a woman was on that spectrum, as long as she was _herself._ And he had no doubts that Sansa Stark was both of these things she projected. She was innocent; she didn’t give away the goods to just anyone – Joffrey and his friends proved that earlier. But she also wasn’t afraid of her sexual desires, as she was proving right now with this little game they were playing. The look that was so unappealing on other women was artfully seductive on her.

He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, shaking his head in delighted surprise at how this evening had unfolded. She held his gaze admirably, even when he saw self-doubt or nervousness momentarily flicker in her blue eyes.

He finally spoke, “Something definitely gets lost… but perhaps this man will enjoy the challenge of making you scream out the _other_ f-word while he’s buried to the hilt in your treasure.”

She peered at him a few moments more before nodding slowly. The act had been dropped, and she was giving permission. His cock, which had been hard for the past ten minutes, was now aching.

The thought of bending her over the very table they stood beside was tempting, but a small voice told Tywin that Sansa Stark deserved better than that. Not just because her father was wealthy and influential in the North. Not just because she was beautiful in a way few women could match. But because she was rare and precious in her possession of so many fine attributes – humor, beauty, grace, intelligence, and – apparently – adventurousness. And one did not mishandle rare and precious things.

Tywin dropped his hand, letting it skim briefly along her neck, shoulder, and arm until it reached her hand. Without explanation he led her down the long hallway, retrieved the key from his pocket, and opened the door to the master suite of Casterly Rock.

…

As Sansa looked around his decadently furnished bedroom, the significance clearly was not lost on her. Her eyes were wide, and frequently landed on him with a silent question – as if she didn’t believe she was really permitted entry into his personal sanctuary. Few people ever had been, and most of them were family members or servants. There was only one romantic interest who was ever brought here. He was forty at the time, ready to try his hand at dating again more than ten years after his wife had passed. It was mostly a way to appease his meddlesome siblings who were worried about him.

The woman had been a recent divorcee that was somehow in his sister Genna’s social circle. They went out on three dates, and it was on the third that he brought her back to his estate and had sexual relations with her, even though he knew that she fell far short of the type of companion he wanted. She was vain and lacked any indication of introspectiveness, blaming her ex-husband entirely for the deterioration of their marriage. Tywin wasn’t one to beat himself up, but he was well aware of the times when he was in the wrong. He knew nobody was perfect, yet that woman seemed to think she was.

Of course, at forty, he still had a libido to satisfy, and the woman was attractive and eager. They had sex twice that night, and neither time was unpleasant. But when he awoke the next morning and the woman was still in his bed he had felt literally nauseated. It was the bed he had shared with his late wife, a woman sophisticated and thoughtful in a way his current bedmate could never be. A woman he fell in love with during high school, married a week after graduation, and who had been there with him as he struggled to right the ship his father had nearly steered into an iceberg. She wasn’t business-savvy, but she supported him in other ways. Soothing his guilt when he had to make an unsavory decision; rebuilding his confidence when a plan of his fell through; reminding him that he had a good heart when he got sucked too deep into the shady underworld of dog-eat-dog business.

Tywin wrapped his arms around Sansa from behind and pressed a light kiss beneath her ear. The palpable lust between them in the library had waned somewhat as she took in her new surroundings, so he knew it was on him to get them back to their previous state. He continued kissing lightly up and down her neck, enjoying the way her responsive body trembled against him.

“If you wish to stop at any point, you say so.” They weren’t romantic words, but Tywin wasn’t going to have sex with a woman young enough to be his granddaughter without making that explicitly clear.

She shook her head to indicate she didn’t want to stop, and he could only hope that if she changed her mind, she’d be willing to express that, too.

He continued kissing up and down her neck with light pecks, eventually trailing to her shoulder. She clutched at his hands that rested on her waist as he hit a particular spot at the juncture where neck met shoulder, so he returned there soon and sucked lightly, allowing the tip of his tongue to flick against her gently. Instinctively she arched her back, pressing her bottom against his groin.

He growled and let his hands drop to her hips to pull her even more flush against him. She twisted her neck to face him and he took the offer, bringing his lips to hers as he let one hand roam back up her body, grazing her flat belly and young breasts on the journey to her jaw where his hand helped turn her head even further, deepening the kiss. Tongue met tongue for the first time, Tywin detecting lingering traces of what he assumed was a wine spritzer.

After some minutes of kissing she smoothly turned herself without bringing her lips away from his. As he stood at 6’3” she had to stretch just a bit to reach him, and it elongated her body in a very appealing way. As they kissed, he ran his hands up and down her torso, from ribcage to hip. Meanwhile her hands traveled up from his shoulders to his neck, and then to his face, her fingers burrowing into his trimmed beard and sideburns.

Their kisses became heated as lust reached a boiling point. It filled Tywin with no small amount of pride that he could still elicit such arousal from a young woman – and one who was quite alluring herself. He wondered if his age was part of the appeal for her. Had she been dissatisfied with her previous encounters with men her own age? Was she drawn to Tywin’s power and wealth? His ability to command a room? He didn’t know and wasn’t entirely certain it wasn’t simply carnal longing; after all, he prided himself on staying fit and didn’t measure success against other sixty-year-old men, but against men a decade or two younger than him. That he could keep up with his son Jaime in a game of racquet ball proved that he was in better shape than the average forty-year-old man, since Jaime was in excellent shape for his age.

Sansa’s hands moved down to his chest, stroking the muscle that extended up into his shoulders through the expensive linen shirt he wore. When he returned the favor – stroking his thumbs lightly along the underside of both breasts – she gasped against his lips, “Mr. Lannister…”

He smiled at her unshakeable manners, “I think, my dear, you can call me Tywin from now on.”

Her lips moved to his jawline. “Please,” she whispered against his skin. That damned word was almost enough to make him explode within his fifty-dollar-a-pair boxer briefs. She was begging for him to take things to the next level – or so he thought until her hands traveled south, fingers grazing the skin beneath the waistband of his pants. She wasn’t pleading, she was seeking permission.

He granted it when he slowly pulled down the zipper that started between her shoulder blades and ended at the small of her back. She wiggled to help him shimmy it off her shoulders and down her body, but never did her lips break contact with the skin of his neck that she seemed fascinated with at the moment.

If kissing her neck brought things up a level, taking off her dress blew them out of the stratosphere. They became nothing but eager hands and lips and tongues. She feverishly worked to unbutton his shirt while he invaded her mouth with his tongue in a way he hadn’t done to a woman since he was a much younger man. But she seemed to draw that side out of him, the side that thought it was sexy, not vulgar, to explore a woman’s mouth with your tongue. There was enough blood left in his brain to realize this meant they had _chemistry_. He had read a scientific article once about how a woman’s saliva would subconsciously appeal to a man while she was ovulating, and also that hormones in the saliva could indicate a biologically compatible mate. A man’s lizard brain could know by locking lips with a woman whether she was worthy of his seed, and the young Ms. Stark was worthy, if the precum seeping out of his cock was any indication.

Before he knew it, they were down to their underwear – his gray boxer briefs, her blush-colored panties and strapless bra. They visually admired one another for only a moment before returning to grabbing at each other like they were the last man and woman alive as a massive meteor barreled toward earth. With one hand pressed between her shoulder blades and the other kneading her ample backside Tywin lifted her, bringing their mouths into perfect alignment. She wrapped her legs around him without pause and he crawled them onto the bed until her head was on a pillow. Only then did he take another opportunity to admire her. She was taut as women her age usually were, but with enough curves to herald her feminine bounty. Flared hips; breasts a perfect handful; thighs so soft he was overcome with the desire to nuzzle into them.

So he did. And nuzzling her thighs led to nuzzling her sex through her very damp panties. Which led to sliding said panties aside and circling her entrance with his tongue. That led to her gasping and clutching for his hair as she gently rocked her hips up and down.

He'd gladly spend an hour laving her pretty little pussy with his tongue, but now the desire he was overcome with was to _watch_ her come undone under his ministrations. He got on his knees between her legs, lowering himself to hover above her with his left hand flat on the bed beside her ribcage and his right probing her slick folders as she panted and writhed beneath him. He stroked her clit with the flat of two fingers then seamlessly slid the same fingers down and inside, making her mewl in pleasure.

“Please…” she breathed again, and this time there was no mistaking it for anything other than begging. She wanted to cum, and the only question was how.

“Do you want to cum on my fingers or my cock?” he asked, both crude and proud, surprisingly himself.

“Both,” the little minx answered without taking a second to think about it. She opened the eyes that had been squeezed shut since he began touching her.

“That can be arranged,” he spoke, not hiding the predatorial grin on his lips. When he resumed his motion in earnest her eyes fluttered shut again. Her channel was tight, but he showed her no mercy; if she couldn’t handle his fingers, she wouldn’t be able to handle his cock. She was wet enough he doubted he was at any risk of hurting her, and when her hips bore down into the mattress, pressing her inner bundle of nerves against his fingers, he knew he was right. She panted and opened her eyes, watching him while he watched her – her chest heaving with rapid breaths, her belly quivering, her back arching slightly.

The sound of staccato breaths and whimpers preceded a throaty groan when she finally came, teeth bared and eyes hidden. There were no words to describe how aroused Tywin was as the aftershocks of her pleasure manifested in sporadic pulsing around his fingers, which were still inside her. He didn’t want to waste her body’s natural mechanism for milking a man off, so he didn’t bother removing his underwear or hers. Still holding her panties to one side, he slid his slickened fingers out just long enough to lower the front of his boxers and sink himself inside her. She was empty for all of three seconds, but it was enough to make her inhale a burst of breath when he filled her.

“Oh Gods, Tywin…”

_There it is._

Hearing his given name on her lips, he wanted to roar out his pride like his namesake might. He resisted the urge, more for the girl’s sake than his. He fucked into her with abandon, not stopping his pace even as he shifted to sit back on his ankles rather than continuing to support his weight with one arm. That was a young man’s game. Now he had two hands with which to squeeze her milky thighs, and he took full advantage of that fact.

He could tell she was still riding her first wave of pleasure by how quickly she was coming undone now. Panting and writhing and gripping into his abdomen with her delicate little fingertips that seemed undecided as to whether they should pull him closer or push him away – a response to pleasure that was almost too much. _Almost._

He slid his hands to the back of her thighs, right before they met knee, and pushed forward, curling her in on herself, but nothing her limber young body couldn’t handle. This allowed him to rise up to his knees and penetrate her at a deeper angle. She noticed the change immediately as she screamed out in pain-pleasure. He was knocking on the door to her womb but consequently hitting that deep bundle of nerves. He plowed into her at this new angle, almost straight downward with his thrusts, and he knew he wouldn’t last long. He was indeed buried to the hilt, feeling every single centimeter of his shaft being stroked by every slick centimeter of her tunnel.

Her head was turned to the side as if seeking relief in his pillow from the overwhelming pleasure, “Oh Gods! Fuck! Tywin! Don’t… don’t stop! Fuuuccckkk!!!”

“Yes baby, cum for me again. Milk me off.” He was shocked by his own dirty talk. He was fairly certain he had _never_ said those words, yet they came out so naturally now he felt no shame in uttering them.

“Please…” her voice was adorably whiny, desperate for him to bring her to peak.

As pleasure built to a coda, he had enough presence of mind to ask a very important question, “Can I cum inside you, Sansa?”

She nodded emphatically and managed an affirmative hum

He couldn’t help but smile, “Good. But you first. You can do it, my beautiful girl. Gods, you’re so beautiful right now, while you’re being so thoroughly fucked.”

“Gods… so deep… so deep,” she murmured in a mix of awe and pleasure as her head lolled side to side.

Damned if those words alone weren’t enough to bring him over the edge, but he held back. Getting her off with only his manhood felt like a mission now. Knowing his words seemed to be contributing to her ecstasy, he continued their back-and-forth, “Yes, baby. Have you ever been fucked so deeply?”

She shook her head, “Faster… faster, Tywin, please.”

He didn’t think he would last if he went any faster, but he was beyond the ability to deny her anything. If she asked for him to sign over the deed to Casterly Rock in that moment he would do so, as long as it would lead to her peaking again and bringing him with her.

So he went faster and, blessedly, couldn’t even count to ten before she was clamping down on him so hard it spurred his own climax. They must have uttered a dozen curses between them, interspersed with one another’s name, but it was the low moan from his own throat that surprised him most. He tended not to be vocal during his orgasms. A grunt or two was about it, but Sansa Stark had somehow brought out an animalistic side to him, and he wasn’t the least bit bothered to realize it.

When his limbs became jelly, he dropped to the bed beside her, wishing a party wasn’t in full swing all throughout the grounds around them. He’d rather like to fall asleep with her warm body against him and was certain he’d have no regrets when he woke to find the same body still there in the morning.

…

Tywin didn’t bother washing his hands or his mouth after fucking Sansa senseless. In fact, despite the mind-blowing orgasm he’d just had, he suspected that sometime after the party wound down, he’d find himself in his big bed, surrounded by the smell of Sansa’s shampoo, perfume, and skin on his sheets as he stroked his cock back to life. And when that time came, he’d like to be able to press his fingers to his nose and breathe deeply of her essence.

Perhaps it was arrogant of him to walk with an extra pep in his step knowing that Sansa Stark would never forget her evening with the lion. Perhaps the next man she took as a lover would disappoint her in some way, and he’d find her on his doorstep, looking like a stray puppy seeking warmth and shelter. It was a cruel image, but there would be nothing cruel about the way he’d worship her body right there on the $100,000 Asshaian rug that formed the focal point of his foyer.

But his fantasies about his recent encounter and potential future encounters with Sansa would have to wait. With her blessing, he had another matter to see to, and he wouldn’t make the lady wait.

“Enjoying the festivities?” he asked with unconcealed disinterest.

Joffrey peeled his eyes away from Sansa, who stood some twenty paces away chatting with her sister. Her eyes never searched for Tywin since they came back out to the gardens, but he knew that she knew where he was and who he was standing beside.

Joffrey shrugged, “It’s the same old shit it is every year. Same faces, same boring conversation.”

“Hmm… I would have agreed with you until about an hour ago…”

“Oh yeah? Did I miss someone fall into a punch bowl or something?” Joffrey snorted.

Tywin shook his head and reached for Joffrey’s left hand. His grandson was too confused to stop him as he deftly unclasped the watch and slipped it from his puny wrist.

“What are you doing?” Joffrey asked, more confused than belligerent.

Tywin made a show of trying to close the watch on his own wrist, but it was several links too short for that. So instead, he admired the face for a few moments. It wasn’t Tywin’s preferred style, but it was classier than most of the jewelry and clothing that Joffrey owned, and thus what Tywin was about to do was particularly fitting.

“Grandfather… what’s the meaning of this?”

Tywin leaned in so only Joffrey could hear, “The meaning is, I just fucked Sansa Stark, which means you owe me your Rolex.”

Tywin didn’t stay to enjoy the mixed expressions of shock, disgust, and anger on Joffrey’s face for too long, but as he turned to stroll casually toward Sansa and her sister, he could tell by her poorly contained grin that she was finding it immensely entertaining.

Suavely, and without drawing attention to the interaction from anyone but her sister, he slipped the watch into Sansa’s palm, “For you, Ms. Stark.” He continued walking, and few would notice that he had so much as slowed his gait when he passed Ned Stark’s daughter.

Behind him he heard a faint snort and the sister asking, “What was _that_ about?”

“Oh nothing… I guess you could say I… won a bet,” Sansa replied.

Tywin didn’t bother trying to fight the grin this time, and when his sons’ eyes took in the unfamiliar sight, they looked horrified. Tywin only shrugged as he walked right by, heading back into the house for the second time. Maybe this time he’d actually get some work done, but if a certain redhead decided to challenge him to a game of backgammon, or offer up another round of horizontal tango, he wouldn’t be disappointed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starts where Ch. 1 left off then leads into an epilogue.
> 
> Thanks for reading and thanks in advance for any who kudos/comment because you make my life complete!! (Not entirely an exaggeration).

As Tywin headed back toward the house not more than twenty seconds after depositing the Rolex into Sansa’s hand, Joffrey must have finally recovered from his stupor, for there was no mistaking the screeching voice that shouted, “Fucking slut!” loud enough to be heard two counties away.

Tywin whipped around and saw Joffrey stomping toward Sansa. He had closed the gap in no time and even the seemingly scrappy little sister didn’t move to intervene, instead staring wide-eyed at Joffrey, who was beet red with rage and affront.

“You _fucked_ my grandfather?! What, you only like wrinkled old cocks??!!” Joffrey yelled at the girl who stood but inches in front of him.

Sansa’s hand flew to her mouth in horror as the sister, finally having regained her bearings, shoved Joffrey with all her might, sending him back a few steps but not knocking him down.

Several people swarmed to the scene from different directions – Ned and Catelyn Stark; Cersei; Robert; Jaime and Tyrion; but Tywin got there first and yanked Joffrey by the collar until they were nose-to-nose, Tywin’s neck craned down, Joffrey’s craned up.

Tywin spoke between gritted teeth in a low voice, though he truly didn’t care who heard, “I told you the next time you embarrassed this family you’d be _done_. Cut off. It _wasn’t_ an idle threat. You dare to speak to one of our guests that way, you little cretin? A woman who has as much class as you have unwarranted arrogance? Well you’re fucking _done.”_

Tywin released him with a shove in the general direction of Robert Baratheon, “Get him off of my property.”

Even the braggadocious Baratheon did not dare to defy Tywin Lannister. He nodded soberly, in contrast to the fact that he was far from sober, and dragged Joffrey away as the boy continued to screech about the injustice – that this was _his_ family’s house, thus it was the Starks that should leave. That he wanted his Rolex back. That Sansa was both a prude and a slut, since that was possible, apparently.

Ned Stark wrapped a tense arm around his daughter’s shoulders even as he glared at Tywin. Tywin couldn’t blame the man; Sansa may be past the age of consent, but she was still the man’s little girl. Daughters always were. Tywin knew this from the way he indulged Cersei while imposing impossible standards on her brothers.

There weren’t words suitable to apologize, and frankly he didn’t regret his encounter with Sansa, only the fallout. Joffrey had _never_ been so bold in Tywin’s presence, and he’d been on his best behavior since the incident with Margaery and Loras Tyrell, at least in his interactions with Tywin.

He supposed, in hindsight, he shouldn’t have expected Joffrey to “lose” gracefully. But he also had no reason to think the boy would loudly and publicly insult his grandfather – the man from whom he could inherit either hundreds of millions of dollars or nothing.

With Robert dragging Joffrey away, hopefully someplace where he would take his belt to the boy’s backside, it fell to Cersei to apologize to the Starks, though clearly Cersei wasn’t sure what to apologize _for._ For her son’s hateful words? For her father possibly fucking their daughter? As a result she spewed out generic _sorry’s_ as the Starks nodded tersely.

They quickly decided that leaving the party was in the best interest of all involved, and there was nothing Tywin could do or say as the woman who had so thoroughly bewitched him walked away, her head hung low in shame, her father’s rigid arm steering her as if she were a preschooler.

…

Tywin had always been an early riser, so he was surprised to be woken not by his body’s natural alarm clock, but by the sound of Marcus calling to him through his bedroom door.

He donned his silk robe and opened the door to find the butler looking back at him with a mixture of confusion and contrition, “There is a Ms. Stark here to see you, sir.”

Tywin was befuddled, “Catelyn or—”

“Sansa,” Marcus stated quickly, as if trying to save his master the embarrassment of uttering the girl’s name after yesterday’s events.

Tywin nodded, “See her to the small sitting room, I’ll be down momentarily.”

Over the ten minutes it took Tywin to see to his morning hygiene and dress, his mind spun with the possible reasons for her early visit. The only thing he could confidently say was that it wasn’t going to be a _friendly_ occasion.

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours Tywin stood at the threshold of a room and studied Sansa Stark. She was sitting on the settee but didn’t look even remotely relaxed.

Tywin took a deep breath to fortify himself and stepped into the room. Her head snapped up and her eyes instantly narrowed. She swiftly rose and closed the distance between them on angry legs while Tywin stood frozen like a deer in headlights. The anger in her eyes was bizarrely sexy until she slapped him hard on his left cheek.

“How come you just stood there?! Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Tywin had gone from confused to thoroughly befuddled as he cupped his smarting cheek, “What are you talking about? I _did_ say something. I kicked my own grandson out of my home, not to mention my _will!”_

“Not to Joffrey! My parents! Why didn’t you say anything to them?!”

“What? What could I have said?!”

She sidestepped his question, “I spent the entire night being slut-shamed by my parents. My _parents!_ Why didn’t you deny it?!”

“Why didn’t _you_ deny it?”

She huffed loudly and threw up her arms, “Oh, pardon me for not thinking on my feet after your grandson called me a slut in front of two hundred people!”

He crossed his arms, “Well pardon _me_ for not thinking on my feet when Joffrey aired our _dirty laundry_ and insulted _me_ in front of two hundred people!”

“You enjoyed it, didn’t you? You knew precisely how Joffrey would react, didn’t you? You liked how _everyone_ heard about your conquest!”

“My _conquest_?! You speak as if you were some wounded prey I hunted.”

“You know what I mean! If it bothered you, why didn’t you deny it, say it was all a misunderstanding?”

“Because it wasn’t a misunderstanding!”

“Well no one else but us needs to know that!”

“Then why didn’t _you_ deny it to your parents? If not during the party, then afterwards while they were ‘slut-shaming’ you, as you put it?!”

“The damage was already done! You stood there looking ashamed, and my father isn’t stupid. He knows if what Joffrey said was a lie you would have denied it.”

“So you’re mad at me because I reacted the same way you did?”

“Yes! I mean no! I mean… Ugh! You’re the one who is all… _Tywin Lannister_ ,” she gestured wildly at him, “You should have known what to do! You know how to perform under pressure.”

Tywin shook his head, realizing her shame and hurt were being misdirected at him, the only person she could blame unless she wanted to seek out Joffrey, which he was sure was not an appealing prospect.

“Look, Sansa, I am sorry for what happened. And _no_ – I didn’t expect it to happen. It didn’t puff up my ego for everyone to hear what Joffrey said, but we are two consenting adults. Your parents will get over this. It’s not like they’re going to stop loving you.”

“They threatened to pull me out of school here in the south and make me re-enroll at a university up north! And forget about my parents – what about everyone else who heard? From this day forth I’ll be known at the stupid little girl who was tricked into sleeping with Tywin Lannister! My reputation is ruined!”

“Tricked?!”

“I didn’t say it’s what happened; I said it’s what people will think!”

“Who cares what people think?”

“I do! Someday I might want to get a job at one of their companies, or with someone else who hears the rumors. I’ve already received messages from friends who weren’t even at the party asking if it’s true!”

“Then tell your so-called friends to mind their own business. And if anyone is cruel to you over this incident, you tell me about it, I’ll ruin them.”

“Oh wonderful!” she threw her hands up, “Now I’ll be the stupid little girl who fucked Tywin Lannister _and_ the pathetic little girl that needs Tywin Lannister to fight her battles!”

Tywin huffed his frustration, “Then what do you want me to do? I cannot undo what happened yesterday.”

“I know, I just…” She sighed, and all the fight seemed to escape with it. She plopped back onto the settee looking thoroughly defeated, “It’s so unfair. You get to add another notch in your bedpost. No one will think less of you. Some men might even give you high-fives. But everyone will think I’m some loose woman now. I’ve had sex with precisely three men, including you, and yet I’ll be branded a whore for the rest of my life.”

Tywin sat down on the opposite end of the sofa and sighed, “You are upset, and it’s perfectly normal to be, but I think you’re making this more than it is. People have short-term memories. By the time summer is over no one will be thinking of this incident.”

She nodded but was clearly not pacified.

Tywin was clueless as to how to make this right, and beyond that there was a pesky feeling of fear – that Sansa would hate him. That they’d never have a repeat of what happened yesterday, which, apparently, he’d been not just fantasizing about but _hoping for._ If any part of her had planned on seeing him again, in any capacity, he’d blown that to hells.

And just then it struck him like a lightning bolt. He _hadn’t_ blown anything to hells. He hadn’t done anything wrong; even he knew she wasn’t truly mad at him for not lying to her parents and all the onlookers yesterday evening. And the best way to negate any rumors that Sansa was a loose woman would be by showing that she wasn’t simply a one-night stand for Tywin.

“Have dinner with me,” Tywin spurted out.

She looked at him with that adorably confused expression, “It’s six in the morning.”

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, “Have dinner with me _tonight_.”

She shook her head, “I don’t need some type of consolation prize, and I certainly don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity. I enjoyed conversing with you yesterday, Sansa. Truthfully, it was the most pleasant conversation I’ve had in… decades. So have dinner with me, so I can learn more about you. And if you’re up for it, we can have that game of backgammon afterwards.”

She eyed him suspiciously, “Why?”

“I just told you why. I enjoy your company, and I don’t enjoy many things.”

“So… you want to… go on a _date_ with me?”

Tywin shrugged, “I suppose you could call it that… Yes, a date. Go on a date with me tonight. If you enjoy yourself, go on another date with me. And if you enjoy that one, go on _another_ date with me.”

“But… why?” she repeated, “I’m a twenty-year-old college student.”

“Age is nothing but a number. You are mature, smart, funny, cultured… I’d prefer a twenty-year-old that possesses all those attributes than a fifty-year-old that possesses none of them.”

“So… you _want_ to do this?”

He nodded, “Look, worst case scenario, we don’t enjoy dating, but at least it will show the world that you’re not some disposable woman to me… some one-night stand. Best-case scenario, we do enjoy dating each other.”

“And if we _do_ enjoy it?”

He shrugged, “Hmm… I suppose that getting attached to a sixty-year-old man actually might not sound like the _best-case scenario_ for you…”

For the first time all morning her lips curved into a smile, “Age is nothing but a number.”

…

Even three years into their relationship, Tywin and Sansa still joked that if Joffrey hadn’t been such an unbearable prick, they’d never have found one another. Never in a million years would Sansa have thought of the Great Lion as “boyfriend material”; nor would he have expected to find the companionship that had evaded him for so long in a twenty-year-old college student. But the reality is, they both found what they didn’t know they were looking for.

Sansa was a vibrant young woman but uninterested in the pursuits of other women her age. Nightclubs and binge drinking held no appeal to her. Her idea of the perfect evening started with philosophical debate over a seafood dinner, a few matches of backgammon while their meals digested, and then lovemaking in one of the many rooms of Casterly Rock. Tywin was in the greatest shape of his life thanks to his little lover putting him through his paces.

She graduated college a year after meeting Tywin. He encouraged her to spread her wings and not bind herself to Lannisport for the sake of her “old man”. But she loved Lannisport and got a job as an economic forecaster for a Dornish company that embraced a work-from-home policy. She held onto her apartment for another six months even though she spent more time at the Rock than at home. At that point Tywin once again made it clear that she was free to forge her own path. Travel the world, for instance.

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel possessive of her, but he’d never been one to want a woman to feel tied down. As long as she was his, she was _his_ , but should she ever wish to _not_ be his, he would not guilt her into staying. Of course, the prospect of her leaving was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat, because the reality was he was thoroughly and irreversibly in love with Sansa Stark by the end of their first real date. When she beat him in backgammon a few nights later he considered dropping to one knee and proposing marriage, but he resisted the compulsion.

It had taken most of the first two years of their relationship for Sansa’s parents to accept that the relationship wasn’t some unhealthy “daddy complex” on her part or late mid-life crisis on his part. It was when Sansa was ready to officially move in with Tywin that Ned Stark finally came around, oddly enough. Ned had called Tywin in a state one afternoon, explaining that his daughter was too young to be settling down, and that she shouldn’t sacrifice her freedom to be in a relationship with Tywin. Tywin whole-heartedly agreed, which stole Ned’s thunder. They conferenced in Sansa and teamed up to dissuade her from the decision she’d made, but Sansa proved that it wasn’t one she’d made lightly. She spent five minutes lecturing Tywin about how, by being adamant that “he knew best”, he was doing the very thing he claimed to be trying to avoid – controlling her. She argued that she’d never been particularly interested in traveling and had always looked forward to making a home more than leaving it to see the world. She was choosing the life she wanted and thanked her father and boyfriend for not continuing to try to convince her otherwise. And to put the final nail in the proverbial coffin, she reminded Tywin that he was a billionaire and that she wasn’t afraid of spending his money (or her father’s) to go on vacation whenever the spirit moved her.

Whether it was Tywin joining _Team Ned_ or the way Sansa had no qualms about standing up to Tywin, Ned was assuaged, and the few times Tywin saw Sansa’s father since then were much more amicable. If anything, Ned seemed to enjoy having another man who could sympathize with being on the receiving end of a Tully woman’s fiery temper. Sansa, like her mother, was polite and mild-mannered 98% of the time. The other 2% of the time she was a firecracker, as evidenced by the way she fearlessly slapped Tywin the morning after their _encounter._ (An action she later apologized for profusely even as Tywin was wondering why her passionate fury had been so damned arousing.)

Now another eighteen months later, Tywin and Sansa were still going strong, and he had no doubt that she was _it_ for him. She elicited feelings he didn’t think himself capable of anymore – if ever. Passion. Giddiness. Jealousy. Optimism. Fear. Love. Longing.

She was his companion, his partner, his friend. And there was only one thing left to make her.

_My wife._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I wrote Chapter 1 to be a one-shot, but since I know some readers aren't happy without either a conclusive ending or an epilogue, you may read Chapter 2 if you wish.


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